


Colour Me In

by felisblanco



Series: The BDSM verse [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Asphyxiation, BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6618463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shut up. Don’t lie to me,” he hisses. “I saw it. You were practically drooling all over him. He get you hot, Jen? His hands all over you, his breath down your neck? Six days he’s been shoving you around, beating you up. And you’ve liked it, haven’t you? You like the way he hurts you.”<br/>It’s not until he notices Jensen trembling and sees a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, that Jared realizes he’s become too angry. Not just faking it, for the sake of roleplay, but he’s actually furious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colour Me In

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Colour Me In by Damien Rice because I thought the lyrics so very fitting. Beta'd by candygramme but I've changed it since (and added more porn!) so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. See, I finally posted it! Only took me forever and a day.

What Jared hadn’t figured into his otherwise genius plan, is how damn good of an actor Jensen actually is. Of course it’s something he _knows_ , after all he witnesses it every day. How Jensen can subtly show every single emotion Dean is trying so desperately to hide, without uttering a single word. It’s all in his eyes, the twist of his lips, the way he holds his head, his whole body. If Jensen had been born in a different time, he would have been the star of every silent movie sporting an Oscar.

Of course that also means that Jensen knows exactly how _not_ to show emotions, especially when they’re his own. 

 

The leather bracelet slash collar stays wrapped around Jensen’s wrist from the day Jared hands it to him. Jared keeps waiting for Jensen to take it off and hand it over, the way they talked about, but days go by, and he keeps it on. Jared searches Jensen for signs that he’s antsy. Needy. Far as he can tell, there’s nothing. 

And so he relaxes. Claps himself on the back for finding the right balance, for keeping Jensen happy and satisfied. Because hey, they do stuff. Kinky stuff. Dominating, aggressive, sometimes even downright degrading if you look at it from a certain perspective. Jared tries really hard not to. He won’t judge Jensen for liking things most people don’t understand. 

That doesn’t change the fact that he was raised to be respectful, to treat people kindly, to be nice. And pushing someone to their knees, fisting their hair and fucking their throat until they almost choke, doesn’t feel like something a nice guy should do, should _enjoy_ doing, especially not to the person they love. Because damn does he enjoy it, he enjoys it to a worryingly obscene level. The feeling of power as Jensen submits before him, the almost reverant look in Jensen's eyes as he kneels with Jared's cock stuffed down his throat, the sting in Jared's palm from smacking Jensen's ass so hard it blossoms red, the taste of sweat and tears and sometimes copper on Jensen's flushed skin. It's like an addiction. An addiction he's terrified he's going to lose control over.

Because as addicted as Jared is, he can't help hovering on the brink of panicking, of thinking, ‘Shit, am I doing this right?’ and ‘Is this too much?’ and it doesn’t really relent until he sees the peaceful look on Jensen’s face, after they're done, as he falls into exhausted sleep. But every time he tries mentioning his fears to Jensen, he just shakes his head and tells him not to worry. He will never let it go that far. Jared wants to trust him on that but what if it’s not that simple? What if Jensen can’t tell where the line lies either? What if they cross it, and neither one notices until it’s too late? What if they already have?

But yeah, he gets comfortable. He convinces himself they’re finally there, that Jensen isn’t saying anything, because he has no need to. He conveniently forgets that Jensen’s issues actually have nothing to do with him or their relationship. That this isn’t a question of trust or love or respect. Sometimes a person’s walls are just too damn high.

 

It’s been a tough week. Not just long workdays and lousy weather, but the scenes are emotionally straining and physically demanding. Jared is tired and slightly bruised, but he doesn’t feel he has any right to complain considering the treatment Dean – and therefore Jensen – has been getting from Alistair. At the end of the fifth day Jensen looks about ready to drop down dead. He’s limping from a particularly bad fall the day before and is moving carefully as soon as they’re off camera, like every muscle in his upper body is hurting. He says it’s nothing, but when they get home that night, and he strips down, there’s a mosaic of bruises on his back from the number of times he’s been slammed into a wall. 

It’s stupid how jealous those bruises make Jared feel. Doesn’t help that Alistair is played by a fifty-something, tall, wiry, ruggedly handsome man who, as it happens, was a guest star on _Smallville_ a couple of years back. Christopher’s (“Call me Chris, boys.”) and Jensen’s paths never crossed there, Jensen having left the show two years earlier, but that doesn’t stop them from sharing laughs and gossip from the _Smallville_ set in between takes. They all go out for drinks once, and Jared has to admit that when Chris isn’t playing a sadistic bastard, the man is really nice. He’s funny and laid back, he seems smart, and he knows everyone in Hollywood and has plenty of stories to share. 

So when it’s time to step back and watch Alistair and Dean get up close and personal, with Chris looming over Jensen, fist in Dean’s jacket as he slams him into yet another wall, vicious words breathing down his neck, Jared has to work really hard not to hate the man.

 

Sixth and second day to last. They’re finally released and allowed to go home a little before midnight. They’re walking side by side to their trailers, and Jared has to restrain himself from putting his arm around Jensen and pulling him close. Jensen seems to be thinking the same thing, because he bumps into Jared rather roughly, his eyes flickering up to meet Jared’s, dark and unreadable. 

Jared smiles at him, bone-tired. “God, I could sleep for a week,” he says. “I’m surprised you are still on your feet.”

Jensen doesn’t answer, he just sighs and drops his gaze, like he’s having enough trouble putting one foot in front of the other. They’re halfway across the lot when someone comes running up behind them, calling Jensen’s name. Turning around they find one of the PA’s, fighting to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she wheezes. “They want you back, Jensen, there was something wrong with that last scene.”

“No.” It’s low. Pleading. Panicked. 

Jared’s head jerks around, shocked, even more so when he sees how pale Jensen looks. Like the thought of going back is killing him. 

“Can’t it wait?” Jared tries although he knows it’s no use. “Jensen needs his beauty sleep. Look at him! He’s getting uglier by the minute.”

“Sorry,” she repeats and runs back, leaving them in silence. Jensen fidgets; he swallows repeatedly then starts walking back, shoulders slumped.

“Jensen…”

“It’s okay,” Jensen says without looking back. His voice sounds even more gravelly than Dean's. “You go home. I’ll… Whatever. Don’t wait up.”

“Dude, like hell. I’m not leaving.” He jogs to catch up with Jensen, feeling increasingly worried. No matter how tired Jensen is, he has always been professional. If something needs to be done, he does it. This is the first time he’s protested, no matter how feebly. 

“Jared, go home.”

“Jensen, shut up.”

He’s not supposed to use that voice out of context, he knows that, but sometimes Jensen just drives him so crazy he can’t help it. He expects Jensen to glare at him, to even turn away and shut him out. What he doesn’t expect is the wild shudder running down Jensen’s body and the short intakes of breath, like he’s fighting a panic attack. Jared reaches out to grab Jensen’s wrist, to stop him in his tracks and ask what the hell is going on, but before he gets a chance there are people and lights, and Jared’s left on the edge of the set, watching Jensen step back into their world of monsters. Smirk set in place, eyes that look focused to anyone but Jared, who sees the strain and the slowly growing panic behind Dean’s angry glare. 

He notices other things as well. The slight shake in Jensen’s breath as he braces himself for Christopher’s attack. The flush traveling up his neck, all the way to his ears as he’s slammed into the wall. The way his eyes flutter close for just a second as Chris leans in, hissing threats into his ear. The way his knees jerk, like they’re on the verge of buckling. His hand coming up to fist Chris’s jacket, exposing a pale bare wrist.

Oh.

Jared shoves his hand into Sam’s jacket just as the director yells cut, and there it is, still warm and damp with sweat, coiled like a snake in the nest of his pocket. Waiting. Asking.

Shit.

“I don’t know,” he hears Jensen say, voice hoarse. “I had it earlier.”

Jared looks up to see the director with a firm grip on Jensen’s arm, holding it up, exposing the missing “prop”. He’s clearly pissed, holding on too tight, leaving white prints on Jensen’s pale skin, prints that will turn purple if he doesn’t let go soon. Jensen just stands there, doesn’t try to pull away or tell him to chill. His face is flushed, his pupils blown, his stance just a little too wide. 

The flare of jealousy is so sudden, so fierce, that Jared is moving before he has time to think. He steps in, trapping the guy’s wrist between his thumb and index finger and squeezes, hard. The man lets go with a hiss, jerking his hand away to cradle it against his chest. “What the hell?”

“Sorry,” Jared says, not feeling sorry at all. “Couldn’t help overhearing. You looking for this?” He pulls the bracelet out of his pocket, watching Jensen’s cheeks go pink and his gaze drop to the floor, clearly mortified. “My fault,” Jared continues, wishing he could tell them all to get lost so he can take Jensen home, away from all of this. Instead he gives the director and the whole crew his trademark bashful grin. “Prank war,” he explains. “He stole my watch yesterday. Sorry, thought we were done shooting.”

“Dammit, Jared,” the director says, but he sounds more exasperated now than angry. They’re all tired, it’s been a long week so far, and Jared can understand his frustration. He still wants to rip the guy’s head off for touching what’s his.

“Ok, one more time. Now with all props in place.” 

Jared throws them all an apologetic smile before turning to Jensen to wrap the bracelet once again around his wrist. He doesn’t say he’s sorry, pretends he can’t see Jensen’s clenched jaw or feel how fast the blood is pounding under the thin skin of his wrist. 

“Finish up quickly,” he says instead, in a low but hard voice. _The_ voice. “No more than two takes. Got it?”

Jensen sucks in a breath through his nose then nods, eyes still downcast, but the air between them is suddenly charged to the point of igniting. Jared allows himself a slight brush of fingers over the blue veins on Jensen’s wrist before letting go. He steps back, watches Jensen take a deep breath before lifting his gaze and meeting Jared’s head on. They don’t smile, don’t nod, just lock eyes in silent agreement. Then Jared turns on his heel and heads for his trailer. He hates that he’s leaving Jensen to deal with the consequences of their brief interaction on his own, knows that, just because the need has been put on hold, it doesn’t mean it’s not there, pounding in Jensen’s veins, making him dizzy with it. 

But he doesn’t really have a choice. Now that he knows how every slam into that damn wall, every grip of strong fingers around Jensen’s throat, every growled curse in his ear and hot breath down his neck is making Jensen more and more desperate for Jared to be the one grabbing and slamming, cursing and breathing, and finally fucking him into oblivion, there’s no way he can stay and watch. As it is, he’s lucky if he can make it to his trailer without putting his fist through something.

 

It’s over an hour before he hears Jensen fumble with the lock to his trailer. It’s dark inside, the only light a small lamp by the couch where Jared is sitting, clean and relatively calm after a cold shower in his own trailer. Jensen closes the door behind him, locks, then goes straight to the couch, falling to his knees with his head bowed in front of Jared without saying a word. He’s sweaty and smeared with fake blood and bruises, and Jared can smell Chris’s cologne on him, spicy and warm. Jensen raises his hand, palm up, displaying the bracelet, coiled and waiting.

“How many takes?” Jared asks coldly, ignoring the offering. He can hear Jensen swallow.

“Four,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Four takes.” 

He doesn’t offer excuses or explanations, even if Jared knows the delay probably had nothing to do with him. There are so many things that can wrong in a shoot, it’s a miracle it didn’t take even longer considering how tired everyone is. They both know that; that’s not what this is about. It’s about Jensen needing a reason, and Jared giving him one.

“Go and shower,” he dismisses. “I can smell him on you.”

Jensen flinches. He starts to move then stops. His eyes flicker up, then down again. His fingers curl around the bracelet, gripping it hard, like he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“Leave it,” Jared says in a bored voice as he takes up his phone and pretends to be busy checking his messages. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jensen uncurl his fingers and stare down at the bracelet in his hand before laying it hesitantly on the floor and standing up. He backs away, stumbling slightly, out of exhaustion or confusion, Jared isn’t sure, before turning away and heading to the small shower. The moment Jensen steps in, closing the door behind him, Jared breathes out, his hands dropping to his lap. He feels a little dizzy. His heart is pounding. He has no idea if he’s doing this right or fucking it up again.

He wonders if this has happened before, Jensen sneaking the bracelet into pockets and other places in the hope that Jared would find it and take the hint. Because despite everything, it seems Jensen still can’t ask. Not even when he doesn’t really have to say anything. And clearly he hasn’t been doing okay. In retrospect, he has probably been struggling all week. Possibly even longer but especially this week. 

The thing about Christopher is that he’s incredibly domineering in his role. Like, shivers-down-the-spine toppy bastard. Jared would bet Chris could make presidents fall to their knees with his voice alone. Jensen has made it obvious that Dean fears Alistair from his time in Hell, but what Jared hadn’t realized was the effect their relationship was having on Jensen himself. Maybe it’s character bleed, maybe it’s just Jensen’s submissive nature, his walls cracking under the pressure. Whatever it is, it’s making Jared hot and angry, knowing Jensen’s been hard and horny and desperate in a way that only _Jared_ should get him, because of some _stranger_ having his hands all over him. The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. Not about Jensen’s feelings, it’s not like he can control them. What he could have done, though, was tell Jared. Tell him it was driving him crazy, that it was making him desperate with need and could Jared please take some of the pressure off.

Jared swallows his anger and stands up when he hears the shower turn off. By the time Jensen comes out of the bathroom Jared is leaning against the wall, legs apart, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his jeans. Jensen looks a bit startled, like he’d expected Jared to still be sitting on the couch, waiting, but he doesn’t hesitate when Jared raises one eyebrow at him, just falls to his knees, the towel pooling on the floor as it falls loose from his waist. His hands shake a little when he reaches for the fly of Jared’s jeans, pops it open and pulls out Jared’s cock. His eyes flicker up to meet Jared’s, just for a moment, before he drops his gaze again, licks his lips and opens his mouth. 

There’s nothing gentle about it. Jensen’s hair is wet in Jared’s fist, he feels drops of water run between his fingers and off his wrist as he tightens his grip and fucks Jensen’s mouth, hard and fast. He has a flash of Alistair grabbing Dean this way, swaying his head back to expose his throat, and the image makes Jared push deeper, wanting to leave bruises on the inside to match the ones Chris left on Jensen’s skin. Jensen chokes, but he doesn’t try to pull away, just pushes his nose deeper into Jared’s curls, like he’s trying to cut off his own air supply, and Jared can feel Jensen’s throat vibrate as he whimpers. That’s enough to push Jared over the edge. He grabs Jensen by the back of his neck, and holds him tight up against his groin, feeling Jensen’s throat convulse around his cock as he tries to swallow him down with the come. When he finally starts to pull away, Jensen’s hands shoot up, fingers clawing at the folds of Jared’s jeans, holding him in place. Jensen looks up, eyes big and wet and pleading, and Jared swears if he wasn’t pushing thirty his dick would have gone rock hard again from that alone. They stare at each other until Jensen’s eyes flutter shut. His fingers uncurl, hands sliding down Jared’s thighs before hitting the floor with a smack. Jared quickly pulls out but it’s too late, Jensen is already crumpling to the floor. There’s a small shudder, and he goes still. 

Jared blinks, returning to the harsh reality of the situation. Jensen is lying naked and bruised on the floor of his trailer in the middle of the Supernatural set, and, Jesus Christ, is he even breathing? Jared falls to his knees, putting his ear to Jensen’s chest and breathes out in relief when he hears Jensen’s heartbeat, strong and steady under ribs that expand with every shallow intake of breath through what must be a very bruised throat. Seems he just passed out. That’s… that’s good. 

Good? What is he saying? He just made Jensen choke on his dick until he passed out! Jesus! Jared runs his fingers through his hair. He’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. This is so fucked up. They are so fucked up. What the hell are they even doing?

Jensen coughs suddenly and opens his eyes, blinking up at Jared in slight confusion. 

“You choked on my dick.” Even as he says it Jared is hit with shame, a feeling that grows stronger when Jensen flushes pink and drops his gaze. Like he’s feeling guilty for not being able to breathe around Jared’s cock. Jesus! “My fault, I got carried away,” he adds quickly, because, even if Jensen might have asked for it, literally begged for it, isn’t it Jared's responsibility to make sure Jensen’s kinks don’t actually kill him? “I’m sorry."

"Don't," Jensen wheezes then coughs and clears his throat. "I've been wanting to, to do... that." If possible his face turns even pinker. 

"Oh." Thinking back, Jensen has been pushing the whole deep throat thing a bit. Not that he ever _said_ anything about wanting it to go that far though. Guess that's another thing they need to talk about. "Still. You okay?”

Jensen nods and slowly gets to his knees, sitting back on his hunches as he tries to catch his breath. His gaze lands on his bare wrist, and his hand flies up to his throat, a look of worry in his eyes when he finds nothing there either. 

Jared pulls the bracelet out of his pocket and shows it to him before putting it back. “Later, when we get home. You sure you’re okay?”

Jensen clears his throat again, grimacing slightly. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft but hoarse. “Yeah, I’m… I’m good.” He gets slowly to his feet, leaving the towel on the floor. “Imma get dressed,” he mumbles. “We’re done, right? Shooting?” he elaborates when Jared just stares at him.

“Oh. Yeah, we’re done.” Jensen is probably just disoriented after passing out, but, still, his confusion makes Jared uneasy.

“Good.” Jensen moves toward the closet but stops and looks back, a little unsure. “Was it… Did you at least get to finish, before I, you know?” He looks embarrassed, and Jared wants to wrap him up in his arms and just hold him. Just spend the night cuddling him and making sure Jensen knows how goddamn precious he is to him. But that's not what Jensen needs right now.

“Best fucking blowjob I’ve ever had,” he says instead, truthfully, then fakes a grin. “Now stop fishing for compliments and get dressed, so I can take you home and fuck you properly.”

Jensen flushes red, but he looks relieved, even happy. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Bossy bastard.”

The jab makes Jared breathe a little easier. It worries him sometimes how unsure of himself Jensen seems to be when it comes to sex. At first Jared thought it was just an act, all part of the game. That was before he realized it wasn’t a game at all, that Jensen wasn’t playing. As authoritative and resolved as he can be otherwise, when it comes to sex, Jensen really is this submissive. And unsure and worried that he isn’t being good enough. It adds an extra layer to Jared’s role in their relationship; not only does he have to make sure Jensen is getting what he needs, but it's up to him to make Jensen realise just how good he is and how happy Jared is to be with him.

Jared can’t help wondering why Jensen is that way. Not the masochism, he thinks he gets that, but the way Jensen acts about it. The way he can’t admit his needs to anyone, not even Jared, who is the one who is supposed to take care of them. Jared isn’t even sure Jensen can admit them to himself. Liking pain, sure, he's quite direct about that – a bit too direct sometimes – but not how he likes it to be dealt out, in what way. With the constant craving for approval, the need to give in to someone else’s authority, to submit to their demand. Jared's demand. 

He suspects it’s a guilt thing. Jensen’s parents aren’t exactly Bible thumping, but they are religious, and Jared isn’t sure they even know Jensen is bi. That could be it, trying to ease some of the guilt by having someone force him to do the things he feels he shouldn’t want. It’s possible. Jared remembers his first time with a guy, how relieved he was to find that the guy didn’t just know what he was doing but actually guided Jared through the whole thing, with enough authority that Jared could relax and tell himself it was okay. He wasn’t initiating anything, it was, in a way, being done _to_ him. He has long since overcome the guilt and shame and confusion that accompanied his sexual identity crisis. Thing is, he’s not sure Jensen ever did.

As Jensen gets dressed Jared stands waiting, absently wrapping and unwrapping the bracelet around his fist. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he catches Jensen glancing his way, teeth digging into his lower lip and nostrils flaring. 

Jared’s reservations evaporate, just like that. He straightens his back, squares his shoulders, and the next time Jensen glances over, Jared has wrapped the bracelet so tight around his hand the skin shines white between the straps. Jensen sucks in his breath, eyes going dark before quickly looking away. He grabs his jacket, and together they leave the trailer and head for the car, keeping a distance between them that does nothing to lower the tension in the air.

Once in the car, Jensen leans against the window and closes his eyes. He doesn’t stir until they’re home at the house and Jared shakes him awake, although he doubts Jensen was anywhere close to sleeping. They both yawn and bid the driver goodnight before heading inside. Jared closes and locks the door behind them. Then he grabs Jensen by the shoulder, pushes him down to his knees and pulls the bracelet, now collar, out of his pocket. Jensen hitches his breath, eyes gazing up at him like Jared’s his savior and master all in one. It’s as scary as it is empowering. 

“Next time, hand it to me,” Jared says, only just managing to keep his voice steady. “That’s what we agreed on.” He touches Jensen’s cheek gently with his knuckles. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

Jensen closes his eyes and leans into the touch, just a little, before bowing his head.

Jared wraps the collar around Jensen’s neck and pulls it tight, the way he knows Jensen likes it. He finds it both terrifying and mesmerizing, the way the leather digs into Jensen’s skin, and his breathing turns labored almost instantly. He wants to ask if it’s too tight but judging by the way Jensen’s shoulders relax, it’s just right.

“Go in and wait for me,” Jared says. He doesn’t have to tell Jensen to undress, they both know how this goes. 

He watches Jensen rise to his feet, toe off his shoes and then walk to the bedroom, head bowed in happy submission. He waits until Jensen’s out of sight before allowing himself to breathe out. Rubbing a hand over his face Jared feels how utterly exhausted he is. A little over two hours ago he was having hallucinations about his warm bed with the soft comforter and just right pillows, knowing they’d have at most eight hours before they had to be back on set, and planning to use as many of them as possible for sleep. And now he’s… 

Shit, still so tired. 

Truth is, after that blowjob? He was so close to just passing out in the car and pretend he’d forgotten all about their plans. But he’d made a promise. Not just earlier but all those months ago when they first started this. He’d said he’d be there for Jensen when he needed him. Every time. Not just when it’s convenient. 

He goes into the kitchen and runs the tap, hoping the cold water will wake him up. If he lets Jensen see how tired he is, he will probably insist they postpone until later. And then spend the rest of the night miserable as hell and the whole next day – that has no guarantee of delivering them any less tired – bad tempered and twitchy with need and frustration. 

Jared dries his face then takes a deep breath and goes to join Jensen in the bedroom, pulling off his shirt and t-shirt on the way. He contemplates unbuttoning his jeans as well but the image of Jensen earlier, doing it for him, flashes tauntingly before his eyes, and he decides he likes that idea better. Jensen is already naked, as Jared knew he would be, on his knees in front of the bed, facing the door. He doesn’t look up when Jared enters, but the small hitch in his breathing lets Jared know Jensen is aware he’s there. 

“Good,” Jared says, keeping his voice cold. He kicks off his sneakers by the door then walks over to stand in front of Jensen. Like before, there are no words necessary, Jensen briefly flicks his eyes upwards, gaze hot and grateful, before getting to work, loosening Jared’s belt, popping the button on his jeans and lowering the zipper. 

Being undressed by someone else is honestly as weird and awkward as it is arousing. Jensen’s hands are warm as they slip the jeans over and down Jared’s hips and thighs, almost as warm as the breath from his lips, less than an inch from Jared’s cock that’s straining against the thin cotton of his boxer briefs. It makes Jared shiver with anticipation. But then he has trouble holding his balance when Jensen lifts each foot to slip the pants off and take his socks off as well. In hindsight he probably should have sat down for that part. This is why strippers usually don’t wear socks, he notes absently.

Once Jared is naked, Jensen sits back on his heels, waiting for his next order. His head is still bowed, and the black leather of the collar stands out in bright contrast to his pale skin. The summer tan is completely gone by now, leaving a few freckles to hold the fort until spring. The short hairs on Jensen’s neck shine golden in the soft light from the bedside table. And Jared has to hold his breath to keep from falling to his own knees, right now, to worship the absolute beauty of him.

Jared’s sister, once, as a joke, sent him a link to a manipulated picture of Jensen in shackles, promoting PETA of all things. Her comment had been along the lines of “Didn’t know you guys were so kinky!” and then a lot of laughter. It had made Jared feel incredibly uncomfortable. Not the innuendo, he knows she was only trying to be funny and has no idea what they actually get up to, but how wrong it seemed. 

That image, as well as any kinky bondage porn he’s ever watched, they seem to be about the perverted side, the dirty and the forbidden. Looking down at Jensen, bowed before him with Jared’s collar of ownership around his neck, Jared isn’t really focusing on how hot he looks or how much he wants to fuck him. He’s thinking of the trust Jensen places in him, and how terrified he is that he’ll screw up. He’s feeling this overwhelming love for how vulnerable Jensen looks, and how strong he knows Jensen actually is, has to be, to put himself in this position. He’s hit with the fact that Jensen chose him, of all people, to open up to, to provide him with what he needs. It’s so much more than hot or sexy, it’s like the greatest power trip ever, mixed with the humblest feelings of gratitude. He couldn’t put it into words even if he tried.

Jensen shifts, his shoulders gone tense, and Jared realizes he’s been staring at him for several minutes. Jensen’s knees are probably hurting, his neck as well.

“Down on the bed.” His voice is slightly hoarse, but Jensen doesn’t seem to notice, he just stands up, graceful as a cat, and turns around, crawling onto the bed and lying down on his stomach. 

“Good.” He moves to the foot of the bed and runs his hands up Jensen’s calves, feels the muscles tighten, the tendons on the back of the knees standing out, then relax again as Jared strokes down, back to Jensen's ankles, where he grips tight and pulls Jensen’s legs apart. “Stay,” he orders and moves to get the cuffs from the closet.

Once, in an adventurous mood, he'd bought a spreader bar for locking Jensen’s legs in place. Even if Jensen didn’t object and, as far as Jared could tell, enjoyed their session, the next time Jared pulled the bar out there was an uneasy look in Jensen’s eyes that made Jared change his mind and put it away again. The carefully blank look on Jensen’s face didn’t quite hide his relief. Jared gets it. The bar is different from the cuffs and ropes that allow Jensen some movement. Jared imagines having his feet locked in a spread position would make anyone feel more than a little vulnerable. Not that Jensen doesn’t trust him, he clearly just has more interest in the DS and SM part of BDSM than the actual BD. Honestly, the spreader bar proved to be more in the way than actually helpful, so Jared doesn’t mourn its dismissal. This way he has more freedom maneuvering Jensen into positions anyway.

He puts the wrist cuffs on Jensen first. After a moment’s consideration he decides to attach them to opposite ends of the headboard rather than joined in the middle. He’s noticed that it seems even more intense for Jensen that way, when he can’t grab onto anything for reassurance, not even his own hands. And with how he is now, the stronger sensation the better, Jared thinks. Jensen’s eyes stay closed as his arms are stretched out and above his head, he doesn’t frown or wince once, even if it must be straining his overwrought muscles. Instead he looks relaxed, like just knowing he’s finally getting what he’s been longing for is enough to drain most of the tension away.

Jared wraps the larger cuffs around Jensen’s ankles then grabs him by the hips, lifting them up and pushing Jensen’s knees under him, thighs still spread. He can hear Jensen’s breathing get heavier as the rope is threaded through the D-ring of the right ankle cuff, then the right wrist cuff, to be pulled as tight as it can go. Same for the left side. It leaves Jensen lying with his face down, ass up, arms and thighs spread. A blindfold would heighten his senses even more, but Jared still feels wary about not seeing Jensen properly when they’re doing heavy stuff. He really doesn’t want to miss even the slightest hint in Jensen’s eyes that something is making him uncomfortable. 

The truth is he doesn’t yet trust Jensen to actually tell him if something doesn’t feel right. Like with the spreader bar. Not harmful but clearly beyond Jensen’s comfort zone, and still he hadn’t said anything. Which makes Jared worry about how enormously Jensen would let him fuck up, before he actually _did_ say something. Like, how bad would it have to get, before he uses his safeword? Jensen seems almost desperate to prove that he trusts Jared to know where the line is, to prove that this is what he wants, that however extreme it seems, the pain is within his limits. Question is, if he is so determined, would he even let Jared know if he went too far? Jared wants to believe the answer is yes, but sometimes he can’t help wondering. And worrying. 

He steps back to make sure that the ropes are straight and not twisting Jensen’s body in a way that might actually hurt him. Jensen is folded in three but his spine is more or less straight and he’s stretched out evenly on each side. Ass spread and ready for the taking.

The obscenely submissive picture laid out before him suddenly hits Jared like a punch in the gut. Jensen is absolutely at his mercy. He couldn't get loose, even if he wanted to. Not at this point. Jared feels light headed, breathless with the now familiar rush of power. Like he's holding a beautiful butterfly in the palm of his hand, knowing he could easily crush it by simply curling his fingers. 

Careful, he reminds himself. Breathe. 

“I’m very disappointed in you.” Jared keeps his voice cool and steady even as he notices Jensen go rigid. He walks over to pick up his jeans where they lie on the floor. The sound of the belt sliding out of the hoops makes Jensen visibly shiver. 

“First off, you broke our agreement. You were supposed to hand me my collar, Jensen, not slip it into my pocket like a thief.” His voice grows even harder as Jensen squeezes his eyes tighter shut, face gone pink with shame. “ _My_ collar, Jensen, _not_ yours. I set the rules, and you broke them. That deserves punishment all on its own.” 

He lets the belt’s end slide down Jensen’s back, over his ass and thighs. Jensen’s breathing grows heavier, quicker as well. “Then you deliberately disobeyed my orders and had them do four takes. Twice as many as I allowed. I have better things to do with my time than sit and wait, while you screw up on the job.” The belt slips down, tapping Jensen’s balls where they hang heavy between his legs. He jerks slightly, breath coming so fast he seems close to hyperventilating. 

“That would be bad enough, but the reason you kept screwing up, the reason you are here now, shaking your ass at me like a bitch in heat,” he continues and leans over, breathing into Jensen’s ear, “wasn’t because you needed me, was it?” Jensen’s eyes fling open, staring at Jared in confusion. “It wasn’t me at all. It was him. You wanted him to fuck you, didn’t you?” 

Jensen’s eyes go wide with shock, mouth opening to protest, but, before he can get a word out, Jared grabs him by the hair, pulling his head back until his neck is strained to the limit. 

“Shut up. Don’t lie to me,” he hisses. “I saw it. You were practically drooling all over him. He get you hot, Jen? His hands all over you, his breath down your neck?” Jensen is clearly struggling to breathe by now, but he still keeps his eyes on Jared and shakes his head as much as the taut hold allows him to. “Six days he’s been shoving you around, beating you up. And you’ve liked it, haven’t you? You like the way he hurts you.”

It’s not until he notices Jensen trembling and sees a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, that Jared realizes he’s become too angry. Not just faking it, for the sake of roleplay, but he’s actually furious. For over a week they’ve been treating Christopher like they would any other guest star, being friendly and nice and even buying him dinner and beer. And all the while the man was turning Jensen on until he was whimpering for it. _No one_ should be allowed or even _able_ to do that, no one but Jared. And then Jensen didn’t even have the decency to come to him with his needs. Instead, he let Christopher rile him up for _days_. 

How close had he been to actually coming in his pants when he was being pressed into a wall or choked by Chris’s bony fingers? Or maybe he didn’t manage to keep back, maybe he actually did come, cream his jeans like a horny teenager. Maybe Chris felt it, felt the heat and dampness of Jensen’s come fill his underwear and slide down his leg. Maybe he went home at the end of the day, to smugly jerk off to the fact that he’d made Jensen Ackles, Dean Winchester himself, come in his pants.

Jared lets Jensen abruptly go, his head falling with a soft thud to the mattress as Jared steps back, breathing heavily. Logically he knows it wasn’t Christopher who turned Jensen on, but what he was doing. The fact remains that Jensen let his need reach a point of desperation where pretty much anyone, not just Jared, was making him horny. And that is the real problem here.

“Maybe I should just leave you like this,” Jared says, willing his anger to back off. However he feels, this is not the time and place. Yes, Jensen wants to be punished, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for Jared to actually _punish_ him. Not like that. 

Jensen swallows and closes his eyes again, shoulders slumping as much as they can from the tight hold. Like he’s relenting, agreeing that yes, that is what he deserves. His lips are pressed closed, but trembling, as if he has to fight to keep himself silent, like he was told, and not beg and cry for forgiveness.

“I should,” Jared continues, keeping his voice dismissive, because he’s not above extending Jensen’s agony a little longer, “but I won’t.” 

And that’s all the warning Jensen gets, before the belt lands with a smack across the round cheeks of his ass. He jerks, lips parting on a sharp hurt noise that almost makes Jared falter. But it’s too late, the belt is already going down again. And again, and again until Jared’s arm gets tired, and Jensen’s ass, thighs and lower back shine red with abused flesh and perspiration. 

There are no welts, there will hardly be any marks at all, the belt is thick and wide, making the hits heavy but not sharp, but they still hurt like a motherfucker. Jared knows, he tried it out on himself one night when Jensen wasn’t home. He told himself he wanted to practice, wanted to make sure he knew just how hard he could hit without risking injury. But the truth is he wanted to know what it felt like, wanted to understand what made Jensen want it, wanted to reassure himself he was actually making Jensen feel good. If anything it had the opposite effect. He only managed a couple of heavy strikes against his own thigh before he wanted to throw up from the pain. Took him two weeks before he could even stomach to put the belt to use again, and even then he did it hesitantly. Until Jensen whimpered and pushed up into the next lash, begging, “Please, please,” with his dick bouncing rock hard on the mattress. And, like always, Jared gave in, trusting Jensen to know his own boundaries. 

Jensen is trembling now, his breathing labored where he lies folded up with his knees pressing against the sides of his chest. He jerked some but still kept quiet through the whole ordeal, barring a few low grunts and whimpers, when Jared managed to surprise him on an inhale. He’s drenched with sweat, his hair is dark with it, his eyelashes glued into spikes, although that might just as well be from tears. Another thing Jared still hasn’t managed to get used to. 

Jared throws the belt aside and runs his palms up and down Jensen’s back, the fever-warm skin soothing his cramped fingers, dented with the bite of the buckle. Slowly Jensen’s shivers subside, his breathing eases, and before long he’s arching into the touch, as far as his bonds let him. 

“Good, good,” Jared tells him, his voice a little hoarse. “That’s it.” He knows that if he untied Jensen now, he wouldn’t be able to stand. Would barely be able to keep his head up, his muscles would be trembling like jelly. He would be disoriented, dizzy, eyes glazed over. Lost somewhere in a place of pain and pleasure that Jared doesn’t even have a passport to. It scares him a little, imagining Jensen getting so lost there he can’t find his way back, but somehow he always does, eventually. “That’s it.”

He pulls back, letting his fingers linger a moment at the bottom of Jensen’s spine, where the cobbled path of hard bones under thin skin disappears into the valley between his cheeks. Jensen is making a low constant sound of need and desperation, muffled behind his once again tightly pressed lips. Jared spreads the cheeks with one hand, fingers denting the soft flesh, while he spits into his other palm, waiting only until the spit has run down to his fingertips before he pushes one finger in without any warning. Jensen gasps, jerking away, and Jared slaps him hard on the cheek that is redder, sorer. 

“Be still,” he warns, even if it’s unnecessary. Now that Jensen has caught on to what’s happening he is pushing back, rocking his hips as much as the bonds allow him, trying to get Jared to go deeper, faster. “Yeah, that’s it. So eager for it, aren’t you? Look at you, you can’t wait to get more in you, my fingers, my dick. You’d take my whole damn hand, wouldn’t you, and still feel hungry for more. Fucking greedy.” 

Jensen sobs, and nods, and if Jared wasn’t already hard as hell that would definitely get him there. He reaches for the lube, and before long he's got three fingers in deep, and he can’t help thinking what it would really be like to get his whole fist in there. If Jensen would let him. Who is he kidding, of course Jensen would. Question is, is it possible without hurting him? Jared’s got big hands, even squeezed together the widest point would be bigger than Jensen’s monster plug. The one they’ve only used once, because Jensen had trouble sitting the whole weekend after. They would need even more time if Jared is going to fist him, can’t have him sitting in the Impala with his hole all puffed up and red and…

“Fuck.” Jared pulls out his fingers – When did he get up to four? – and doesn’t wait, can’t wait, doesn’t even take the time to add more lube, just spit, knows Jensen wouldn’t appreciate more anyway. Jensen wants it to hurt, wants to feel the pull of skin on skin with only the minimum of wetness to keep him from tearing. Jared doesn’t get it but then again there’s so much in this relationship he doesn’t understand, isn’t even sure he wants to understand, thinks there must be more to it than Jensen claims, must be something…

But then what about himself, Jared thinks as he tightens his hold of Jensen’s hips, his hands slick with spit and lube and his own precome. What the hell does it say about him that he not only complies but loves it? Loves feeling Jensen clench instinctively and then give in with a sob to the relentless pressure of Jared's dick as it pushes inside. Loves seeing the marks from his hands, his mouth, his fucking teeth on Jensen’s body. Loves hearing the soft pants, the grunts, the bitten off yells when Jensen can’t hold back anymore and lets the painful pleasure wash over him in all its glory. Loves the taste of copper on Jensen’s skin and wet salt on his face, loves to hold Jensen trapped under his weight as he shudders and trembles and struggles for breath with Jared’s fingers curled under the collar, pulling it tighter and tighter. Loves the blue tint of his lips, the purple of his face, the slight bulging of his eyes right before, before… Fuck. God. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes!

Loves to watch him sleep when it’s over, bruised and battered, skin red from the cuffs, the collar, the restraints. Face wet with sweat and tears, looking so relaxed, almost smiling in his sleep. Like he’s found heaven in Jared’s cruel and capable hands. 

What does that say about him?

 

“Hey.”

Jared opens his eyes. It’s still dark outside, only the bathroom light, yellow and soft, illuminates Jensen who is hovering over him, smiling hesitantly.

“Hey,” Jared echoes, his voice hoarse. Then he remembers. “You okay?” he asks concerned and reaches up to rub his thumb over Jensen’s cheek. He smells clean and minty-fresh, all traces from last night washed away, but Jared knows there will be finger shaped bruises on his hips, that his whole body must be aching, and that he will be walking gingerly on set all day.

Jensen nods, his cheeks pink. It might be from the shower but Jared doubts it. “Thank you,” Jensen says, “for… you know. It was… good.” His eyes flicker away, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

Jared’s heart sinks. Shit. Did he finally go to far? Was it the lashing? The words? Did he not take enough care of him after? Fall asleep too soon? Was it the bonds? The hard fucking? His fingers? Too many, too brutal, not enough slick. “Hey, you all right? Did I… Was it too much? Did I hurt you?”

Jensen looks up, surprised. “What? No. No, it was perfect. Thank you.” He licks his lips. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out. “I fucked up.”

Ah. 

Jared only just manages to hide his relief. “Yeah, you did,” he says, because it’s true. “You should have told me. We had a deal.”

“Fuck, I know. I tried but…” Jensen clenches his jaw and Jared is reminded of just how much Jensen hates talking about this. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.” He sits up and swings his feet down on the floor. “I need to take a shower.”

“Jare…” 

“I’m not angry.” That is a lie but he knows his anger is unreasonable and his own to deal with. “I’m just disappointed.”

Jensen flinches. It makes Jared’s heart hurt but something has to change. Jensen needs to take responsibility for his own needs. Because goddammit, Jared is sick of feeling guilty for not reading his boyfriend’s fucking mind.

By the time Jared is showered and dressed, Jensen is in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee, with another cup plus two travel mugs waiting on the kitchen counter. Jared smiles his thanks and grabs the toast from the toaster, slathering on a healthy amount of butter. They eat breakfast in familiar silence, since Jensen is anything but a morning person, but the tension is an added effect that Jared could do without. 

“Look –” he finally starts at the same time as Jensen says, “I’m sorry I –” The tension eases slightly as they smile at each other. “You first,” Jared tells him.

“It’s okay if you want…”

Jared gives him a stern look. “Jensen.”

Jensen nods then takes a deep breath before looking up, eyes steady even if Jared can see his pulse beating frantically in his neck. “I’m sorry, I screwed up. I should have come to you when… when it got to be too much.”

“No. Before it became too much,” Jared corrects him. “As soon as you got the itch. That bracelet? It’s not a fucking 911 call, okay? That is not what I gave you it for. It’s not for you to use when you’re already bleeding out on the goddamn kitchen floor, Jensen. You get a fucking paper cut, you hand me the damn bracelet. Got it?”

Jensen blinks. He swallows. “That’s one hell of a gory metaphor,” he says. 

“Well, seems to me you need that for the message to get through your thick skull,” Jared says, smiling to take out the sting, before his face turns serious. “We had a deal, Jen. When you need me to take care of you, you hand me the bracelet. That’s the deal. _When_ you need it. That means _whenever_ you need it, whenever you need me. No questions asked. No need to justify yourself or give me a break or whatever it is that’s holding you back. Don’t care if we fucked five minutes ago or if it’s been days. You need me, you hand me the goddamn bracelet.”

“But…”

“No. There’s no ‘but’, Jensen. Jesus. I’m not gonna get tired of it, I’m not gonna start thinking you’re too much work, that you’re too needy or whiny or slutty or whatever.” He takes a deep breath. “What will however get me angry is you getting your kicks from someone else.”

Jensen flinches. “I didn’t–“

“You did. He turned you on and you let him. Instead of coming to me so I could take care of you, you let him rile you up. You let _him_ do to you what no one, _no one_ , is supposed to do but me.” Jared leans forward, eyes hard. “That is the deal. I take care of you. Me, no one else. No one else. Okay?”

Jensen stares at him. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Yeah. Yes. I’m sorry. I won’t… Shit.” He closes his eyes, hands curling into fists where they rest on the table between them. “Shit. Shit. Fuck.”

Jared frowns. “Hey. Jensen, it’s okay.”

“No. No, it’s fucking not,” Jensen whispers and when he opens his eyes they’re almost black, the pupils are so wide. He fumbles with the bracelet, hands shaking, and flings it on the table with a snap. “Whenever. That’s what you said. So, here. But fuck, it can’t be whenever. It can’t, Jared. Because the car is gonna be here to pick us up in about five minutes and… Shit. Fuck.” He’s starting to hyperventilate.

Jared grabs the bracelet and stands up so fast the chair topples over. He’s around the table, hauling Jensen to his feet before he has time to protest further and wraps the leather around his neck. 

“Five minutes is all we need,” he says, and then he pulls the collar tighter, tighter as Jensen stares at him with wide eyes, his face becoming redder and redder until his lips start turning blue and his eyes threaten to roll back in his head. Only then does Jared release the leather’s strangling hold, turns Jensen around and bends him over the kitchen table. It doesn't take long until Jensen's jeans are around his ankles, his underwear around his knees, legs spread as far as they can go. The butter is still on the table and Jared shoves his fingers in, coating them generously before slipping them down Jensen's crack. Jensen whimpers when Jared touches him, still hot and swollen from last night.

"This is gonna hurt," Jared warns and Jensen hitches his breath then whispers, "Yes," and "Thank you, thank you," over and over again, like Jared's thick fingers shoving relentlessly into his still aching body is everything he ever wanted. He gasps when Jared pulls out his fingers and grunts when Jared's dick takes their place, arms trembling where they struggle to keep him from faceplanting onto the table. Jared reaches out and wraps his fingers around the leather collar, pulling it tight again, his other hand fisting Jensen's cock. He half pulls out, then slams back inside. It's fast and hard and brutal, the table shaking and squeaking, Jared's harsh breathing mingling with Jensen's strangled sobs of raw, painful pleasure. In the back of Jared's head the seconds tick away, reminding him that they're racing against the clock, that the car will be there any minute to pick them up. He curses and doubles his efforts, muttering, "Fuck, fuck," and "Such a fucking bitch for it, Jen. Fuck, feel that? Feel that?" and it doesn’t take long until Jensen is coming into Jared's tight fist, his sobs turning into whimpers as it becomes, "Too much. Oh god, please, too much, Jared!" 

That's what pushes Jared over the edge, his knees almost buckling from the force of it. He slumps over Jensen's still trembling body, chest heaving, cramped fingers slowly untangling from the sweat-soaked leather. Jensen's head thumps down on the table, his abused throat wheezing air into his aching lungs. Oh God. Jared wants to lay down flat on the floor, Jensen sprawled on top of him, and just breathe until they have gathered enough strength to do it all over again. But the clock in his head tells him they've run out of time. Any minute now... 

His phone buzzes. The car is there. 

Jared manages to push himself up and reluctantly pulls out, wincing when Jensen gasps. He heaves Jensen to his feet and wraps his arms around him, holding him tight as he trembles and struggles to get his breath back. "Okay? Jen, baby? You okay?" 

Jensen nods but he looks wiped out, mouth slack and eyes glazed over, body swaying on liquid legs. His neck is a little red, but, with the abuse he's been getting on set lately, no one should question it. 

"Jensen? You good to go?"

"Ye-eah." Jensen clears his throat and shakes his head, blinking awake. "Yeah, I'm good." He breathes out and offers a shaky smile. "Thank you."

Jared grins. "This was just foreplay. Just wait until I get you home tonight." He grabs the kitchen towel and wipes his dick and buttery fingers clean then tucks himself in. “Go clean yourself up,” he orders. “I’ll be waiting in the car.” 

And then he turns around and walks out, before his resolve falters and he calls them both in sick. He just hopes Jensen still has enough brain cells to do as he's told, and quickly. God knows Jared’s having trouble himself, just putting one foot in front of the other. 

It's not until he’s sitting in the car that Jared remembers the travel mugs, forgotten on the kitchen counter. No matter, Jensen will bring them out. And if he forgets… well, that’s just one more thing Jared will have to punish him for once they get home, isn’t it? After all, Jensen's got the whole weekend to practice his begging.

fin


End file.
